The perils of unsuitable footwear
My mother has a phrase which I love and it goes like this. “Oh this old thing?” points to *shoes, skirt, coat, saucepan, sofa (*delete as applicable), “it doesn’t owe me a penny”. Not owing my mother a penny is high praise. It is rare that something merits the accolade. It has to have been worn, used or sat on an unspecified number of times that may, or may not, equal the initial cost outlay.
There are a fair few pairs of shoes, for example, that owe my mother many pennies. High-heeled and stylish, they earned their dusty place at the bottom of Mam’s wardrobes because they were just perfect complement to an outfit.
It was just a shame she couldn’t walk in them. It’s not her fault. Buying shoes that you can’t walk in is a family trait. Mam’s mam, Nan Bailey, a big fan of a skirt with lining, loved an uncomfortable shoe.
In the irony that rinses generations I remember my mother commenting on the grand unveiling of a new pair of Nan’s shoes with a raised eyebrow and a sceptical, “Lovely Mam, but can you walk in them?”
Nan Bailey would reply with, “Ooh, they’re not too bad”. Cue wincing, hobbling and the mass enlisting of her daughters and grand-daughters to persuade her to buy
‘boppers’, ie comfy daps for her holidays.
My friend Sue will barely have managed to read this far without spluttering her tea in outrage at my lack of self-awareness.
“you!” she’ll be pointing at this page in the magazine. ‘“you’ve got a cheek. What about all the times we’ve gone out and you’ve make me swap shoes with you?”
Like I said, Sue. It’s not my fault. This shoe thing is genetic.
But this week I’ve been wearing shoes that even the lovely Susan wouldn’t swap with me. I’ve been walking the dog wearing Daughter’s new walking boots. She has the Duke of Edinburgh practice bronze expedition today. Right about now, depending on when you read this, she’ll either be lost, very lost or exceedingly lost.
But no matter because she will be okay on the boots front!
I received five emails from the school warning us overprotective parents that if we don’t buy these mini adventurers new boots in good time so that they can wear them in, then, THEY WILL GET BLISTERS.
I can report, THE SCHOOL IS RIGHT. I have, on the up side, discovered that blister plasters are excellent. I can’t complain either. It is my penance because our lack-ofbreaking-in-these-boots-time is my fault. I’m not used to buying shoes to walk in. I left it late. Then the first pair went to our old house.
I wasted a few hours of my life that I won’t get back arguing with ebay that they hadn’t been delivered – that the picture they shared as evidence wasn’t our front door.
I was at the height of my indignant fury when I casually checked the delivery address and um, ah, well, um, apologies. Sorry, that’s our old front door…
So here I am, in these boots made for walking, which, as I’ve already had to buy two pairs, have already cost me a pretty penny. Just as much, in fact, as Denbighshire County Council said that it had allocated to the recent coronation (you know, that thing that happened in that there London last weekend? Lots of flags and gold? Diamonds, crowds and the like?)
In a survey of all the local authorities of Wales, Denbighshire confirmed that £70 had been allocated to the royal event. Allocated, I note, not spent. If they haven’t spent it all then, if they’re interested, could you let them know I will soon have a pair of barely-worn boots heading for an auction site near them?
Speaking of the new King (was I?) he was back at work on Tuesday (same as all of us). There he was, in a light-beige (or is it greige?) suit smiling widely over a shiny shovel (not the same as all of us). He was at Cambridge Uni’s Whittle Laboratory, digging up some grass to mark the start of a new lab.
And it was a good job he was there because there was an emergency. A dignitary got her heel stuck in the mud. The King galloped over, gallantly. The dignitary, Dame Polly Courtice, had to lean on him so that she could pull out her shoe. She shuffled back, trying to style it out. It warranted a ‘breaking news’ banner on a news website.
But, I appeal to the women of the world, surely we know never to wear heels on grass when it’s been raining? Not even Nan Bailey or my mother would have attempted such a high-risk strategy no matter how well those heels went with their tops. It was madness, I tell you. Madness.
Let’s just hope, as my mother would also say, she gets her wear out of them and that they didn’t cost a king’s ransom in the first place.